


Night Routine

by lunasenzanotte



Series: 30 Days of Domestic Fluff [5]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Historical, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 11:04:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15906999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunasenzanotte/pseuds/lunasenzanotte
Summary: Álvaro loves the hour when all the farm falls asleep.





	Night Routine

**Author's Note:**

> I'm putting a historical AU twist on the challenge. I felt like I didn't give Álvaro and Isco a closure in my Conquest of Paradise fic, so this is basically what happens after - they're safe and well and together.

Álvaro loves the hour when all the farm falls asleep. Everything gets gradually quiet, first the workers stop with all their chores, all the thudding and screeching. Then the animals slowly fall asleep, too, the hens and horses, and finally the birds. The lights in the house go dark, and then he and Isco are the only ones still awake.

Isco likes to play cards or dice in the evening, sipping on the herbal tea that Álvaro makes them, even though Álvaro is sure he would rather a cup of mulled red in winter, a glass of chilled white in summer. Sometimes they don’t even play and content themselves with listening to the fire crackling in the stove.

Álvaro prays before going to bed. Isco too does, but he always makes short work of it and Álvaro thinks he does it mostly to make Álvaro happy. He’s once asked him why he does it. Said if the Church killed his own father, he wouldn’t waste his time on its supreme head. Álvaro only smiled at that. He’s turned that question t in his mind since he was a little boy, and only when he grew up, he knew the answer. And he told Isco, it wasn’t the Church that killed his father. That was his conclusion, after years and years of hating and not knowing who to hate. But his father threw a stone through the window of a church when he was drunk. So Álvaro prays every night. He never touches alcohol, not even diluted wine.

They usually climb in their bed near midnight, Álvaro much later than Isco, because he has to make sure the fire in the stove is out, and he can’t leave the kitchen untidy, and remembers he didn’t leave out milk for the kitten. By the time he comes to bed, Isco is either already snoring, or fuming with anger.

“You left the front door open,” Isco mumbles when Álvaro walks in the bedroom.

“Did I?” Álvaro blinks.

“No, idiot,” Isco yawns. “You checked twice already.”

Álvaro slaps him and slides under the blanket. It’s really warm under there. It means Isco has been warming up the bed for a long time.

“Maybe I should go check it anyway,” he says when Isco wraps his arms around him.

Isco wraps his hands around his neck instead. “If you insist you want to leave this bed, I’ll make sure you won’t leave it alive.”

Álvaro grins and lays his head on Isco’s shoulder. “There’s nothing to steal anyway,” he says. “Except you. And whoever would steal you, would return you very quickly.”

“Shut up and go to sleep,” Isco growls.

Álvaro grins again. He always wins.


End file.
